---
tears,
they form.
small droplets of water,
in the corner of my eyes.
they dance down my face,
dampening my cheeks.
they roll past my lips,
giving me a salty taste.
they mold against my skin,
burning like acid.
these tears,
they fall.
---
YOU ARE READING
Literal Hell | Poetry
Poesíapoetry book. song (in title): We Don't Have to Dance- Andy Black picture (in cover): me
